REBELS AGAINST REALITY
THIRD INTERVIEW WITH JACK TRUE
FEBRUARY 25, 2011. NOTICE TO MY READERS—As most of you know, I move back and forth between very different subjects in my work. Medical fraud, political commentary, the moves made by global elites, and imagination/creative power/magic.
As of late, I’ve stepped up the action by assembling several more interviews with Jack True. These interviews represent what I consider to be the most important area of my long-time focus: imagination/creative power/magic.
I’d like to get responses from readers who are really interested in this aspect. I’m thinking of doing a new seminar on this subject—possibly an in-person live seminar. I sense that events of the past three years have moved some people away from this area, as society has been undergoing various crises. For me, these crises underline the need to dig deeper…to further explore the actual truth and meaning of magic. Are you there? Are you still interested?
In 1988, during a conversation with hypnotherapist Jack True, I kiddingly suggested we form a group called RAR, Rebels Against Reality. A few days later, we picked up the thread of that comment, and we did an interview, part of which I’ve been able to reconstruct from my notes. I hesitated to print this one at first, because it moves into areas lots of people are quite unfamiliar with—particularly if they’re looking to learn something by comparing it to what they already know…but then I realized I’d crossed that line a long time ago. Way long ago. Buckle up.
Q (Rappoport): So you like the idea. Rebels Against Reality.
A: (Jack True): If it’s taken far enough.
Q: Well, I think we could break it down into several groups. Rebels Against Space, for example. Meaning we would insist on New Spaces.
A: To whom would be lodge our request? City planners?
Q: Hell no. We’d go a lot farther than that. We’d appeal to the Space Mafia.
A: Who are they?
Q: People who make space and sell it. They control the market.
A: So we’d have to raise money to buy new space from them.
Q: No, we’d threaten them by saying we’re ready to make our own.
A: And how would our own be different?
Q: It wouldn’t be continuous. It wouldn’t require time, for example, to move across a chunk of it. You could just disappear from one end and reappear at the other.
A: I’d think there would be a market for that. The military would be very interested.
Q: Yeah, but we’re not selling to them. Our market would be the people who want a break from ordinary reality. Billions of people. Of course, they can get that break if they go to a museum and look at paintings for a long time. But they don’t know that. They think they’re hemmed in.
A: You’ve talked about art as a flood.
Q: Yeah. Flooding the world with so much art that perception of reality changes. It would take a while for it to sink in, but when it did, all sorts of new phenomena would surface.
A: I’d guess that telepathy would expand terrifically. People would get used to space on a different level—not as something you have to travel through, but as a medium. A fluid, maybe. Or better yet, a definition of position. Space simply tells you where you are. It doesn’t tell you what you have to do to go from one position to another. You can transmit thoughts as easily as driving to the market. Easier.
Q: The point is, once you realize that telepathy is very available, the character of thought begins to escalate, because why bother to exchange messages with someone when the thoughts involved are so pedestrian? “I’m going to the movies. Want to go?” “Sure.” I mean, who would care about that? [Apparently, I was wrong, because now we have instant Twitter, and people are comfortable sharing the most inane messages.]
A: So you’re saying art would come into its own with telepathy.
Q: Yes, in the form of new languages. Many new languages, where the symbols aren’t denoting specific meanings. They’re open. You get the aesthetic punch, but you leave out the literal. When people are confronted by art at every turn, adventurous art, and when they begin creating it, too, they need to become far more inventive. I’d compare it to a situation where you have a lot of land—lots of people have a lot of empty land—and you grow vegetables. And then you have enough for your needs, and so does everyone else. So what are you going to do now? You’re going to plant flowers, maybe. You’re going to step into art. You’re going to escalate. See, on a mental level, people are involved with thought-forms all the time. These are like pictures, but they’re not exactly pictures. They’re more like feelings. They have the impact of sensation and feeling. But at the same time, take these people and lead them into a museum, into a room where abstract paintings are hanging all over the place, and they claim to be baffled. Absolutely baffled. It’s ridiculous. It’s like saying people who own cars go to a garage where a hundred cars are parked and they have no idea what they’re seeing.
A: I’d be in favor of forcing people to live in a museum for a few years. I think some interesting things would happen. They can’t go outside. They have to stay in the museum.
Q: Well, people used to talk about the effect of space on astronauts. This would be like that. Here in the museum, there are hundreds of vastly different realities hanging on the walls, and people see them every hour of every day. Eventually, I think they’d stop their incessant whining about not understanding art, and they’d actually begin to look at what’s on the walls. They’d become involved. They’d realize people have been sending advanced “messages” to one another for centuries.
A: If you were a citizen of ancient Egypt, and you went to sleep and had a dream, my sense is that, when you woke up, you’d be required to seek out an interpretation of the dream from a so-called expert.
Q: Just like now.
A: (laughs) Yeah. You’d go to a local priest who was trained in the accepted cosmology—all the gods and sub-gods, and sub-sub gods, the cosmology that tells you all about their functions and histories and powers…and you’d have this priest tell you what your dream meant. He’d give you the party line, in terms of that cosmology, and you’d wander away with the standard party line.
Q: And after a while, you would lose the passion for your own dreams, once you became bored with the cosmology, because what else would you have? There was a complex picture of the universe, and only the priests understood it, and they gave you the chapter and the verse. It was really an anti-art movement. Art is your own. It isn’t some communal culture, despite what the wardens of culture tell us.
A: People are afraid of individual meaning.
Q: They want that shared porridge, handed to them by the people who have so-called special insight. Eventually, this devolves down to a feeling that only the initiated understand anything profound. And then the next phase is complete disinterest or open hostility toward art, unless it imitates physical reality. So imagination goes to sleep. The big sleep. And then people say they don’t understand anything that isn’t practical.
A: This is where waking life becomes hypnosis.
Q: What did you just say? People are afraid of individual meaning. They think that if everyone has his own meanings, there won’t be any basis for understanding. They think this means isolation, even insanity. But it’s just the opposite. If everyone was transmitting meanings of his own, intensely his own, the level of understanding would rise—because the drabness would be taken out of it, as well as all the false pretension that something horrendously boring is interesting. All that would be gone, wiped off the board. That’s what the flood of art would bring. The character of space and time would change. The drabness of repeating space and time would drain away. People think that going into outer space is so fantastic, and it is, but along the way you pass through interminable stretches where there is nothing but nothing. Space just keeps repeating over and over. It’s completely redundant.
A: I’ve seen this with some patients. When they’re in trance, it appears that nothing is there. You ask for things, and you get empty space or a vacuum. It goes on and on. I take this as a kind of…coefficient of non-creation. The person isn’t creating anything. But it’s not by clear choice. It’s not like he’s sitting in the Big Void and realizing his potential power. It’s like narcosis.
Q: Amnesia. In those empty spaces, he’s convinced that his creations would only be replicas of what already exists, so he opts out. It’s like watching people fall asleep in church. They’re in their seats listening to a third-rate recitation of a chunk of a cosmology that is already centuries old and nobody really cares about it…and they fall asleep. It’s nothing listening to nothing. What is the sound of no hands clapping? A snore.
A: I’m against instant comprehension. With TV, people know right away what’s passing across the screen. Do you see? They sit there for hours watching these images, and they become trained to expect that they’ll understand everything they see right away. But with art, you have to become engaged. Actively engaged. You have to work at it. People are losing this faculty. It’s the same with certain ideas. People want ideas laid out for them, nice and neat. If ideas show up that don’t admit to instant understanding, people walk away.
Q: That’s why I say people have to live in an atmosphere of art. They’ll reject everything at first, but gradually they’ll start to get used to it. They’ll absorb it. Then they’ll start exploring it. Then they’ll start to create it.
A: There is a parallel to hypnotherapy. People think it’s something like sleep, but if it’s done right, what you really get is focus. Concentration on a specific thing. You put a patient in a situation where he can actually look at something. An idea, an image, a desire. You create the atmosphere where that’s possible. In a real sense, the history of our times will be seen as a history of distraction. People moving from one thought to another, never really digesting anything along the way.
Q: I’ll tell you about a dream I once had. In the dream, I was sitting in a coffee shop talking to a man who had acted in a repertory company for 30 years, with the same group of people. They had done hundreds of different plays and acted in hundreds of different roles. And in that conversation, it came out that this man’s immersion in art for 30 years with his group…that man had experienced and created all sorts of effects we would call paranormal. Telepathy, especially. He had a kind of elevated level of thought transference with other people in the company. It happened frequently. But the thing was, they were all used to it. What I mean is, they didn’t talk about it and they didn’t think about it, and they certainly didn’t trumpet it. They didn’t really notice it.
A: So you mean they were isolated.
A: They took it for granted. These “paranormal” effects happen all the time in art. But people overlook it, they don’t stop to recognize what’s actually happening. Meanwhile, other “scientific professionals” argue about whether anything paranormal is happening in the world or is possible. It’s a ludicrous situation, when you stop and think about it. It’s right there, under our noses, and still we have–
Q: This slavish devotion to ordinary reality.